


We are the dusk till down (We are the apple of God's eye)

by thisgirlinhere



Category: Secret History - Donna Tartt
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Feelings, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Post-Canon, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-10 05:30:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19900603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisgirlinhere/pseuds/thisgirlinhere
Summary: It goes like this, a please, and a no. A cat and mouse dance, carefully orquestrated so none of the parties loses or wins, so the game never begins nor ends, but after Henry knocked the table the group had been playing over and Francis played his last card on Richard after Bunny's death, what was left after the last disaster of that year was a solitary Californian boy sitting alone inside his room, considering what story would shame him the less when he crawled back home.To his luck, not everyone appeared so keen on running as they made it seem.Or, alternatively: How Francis almost ran away to Canada alone and how Richard didn't want to be left to the ghosts.





	We are the dusk till down (We are the apple of God's eye)

**Author's Note:**

> First time I ever write something other than The Raven Cycle, and I was a bit scared but this book really needs some more content!
> 
> I hope you all enjoy it, I will try to update it as quickly as I can.

Ater that second lingering, tentative touch, there was only tenderness. He kissed me as if I were a god he wished to worship until the end of his days, as if we were immortals and had all the time the world had to offer, and though our minds had a good deal to heal yet, our hearts had never felt more whole, and, deep in my core I knew that I had found the world wretching love the Greeks and romantics had been so fond of writing and painting about.

When everything went down, and Bunny and Henry were both no longer between us, I thought I would never see any of them again, not when the twins had both decided to go to college somewhere else - a little province in Italy from what Camilla had said in one of her last letters to me - and Francis seemed keen on running away as soon as Henry died, appearing in my room in the middle of the night, pale face flushed red and delicate eyes puffy with recent crying, babbling quickly and almost incoherently about Canada and how I could go with him, to please go with him.

I had been barely awake, and everything seemed to be covered in a medicine-induced fog that made it very hard to keep my eyes open, and I told him so, that if he wanted to leave immediately, he would have to do so alone, to which he responded with a strangled sort of noise, and then said a soft goodbye, kissing my forehead lightly and turning to go away, closing the door with a soft tud behind him. It all felt like a dream, and I had a little smile on my lips when I dozed back to a dreamless sleep.

On the next morning, hazy memories of the night before began to come back to me as I stirred and sat up on the bed, my fingers carding through a tangle of messy hair. My eyes, that had been only half open before, snapped completely open as soon as Francis’ words finally started to make sense to me, and I jumped off the bed, slipping my feet quickly inside my worn slippers and putting on the first coat I saw - which, I would notice later, was the same one I had been wearing on the day of Bunny’s death -, my breath was frantic as I ran downstairs and in the direction of Francis’s apartment, not even considering, in my despair, to get money for a cab.

And so I ran until my feet were sore and my breathing was ragged, hurting more and more by the second. For a moment, I could see it, Francis’s usual parking spot empty, his apartment door hanging open, his expensive clothes gone from the closet, all gone along with the last slip of proof that the past year had not, in fact, been an invention of my overly romantic imagination and that there was still a shred of hope to be pursued.

The streets seemed to stretch in front of me, empty and chilly, still half involved in darkness where the Sun was yet to shine its first rays. It felt like I would never arrive, as if I was trapped inside one of my childhood nightmares, but when I finally stopped in front of the old building, when I finally could see the wrinkly doorman and Francis’ curtains tightly shut just a few floors above, the time seemed to flow quickly, and I became acutely aware of every single rasp breath of mine, every sharp heartbeat, and the billions and billions of molecules that composed my body, and, for that very brief moment, I thought about turning my back and leaving it all behind, really pretending it had all been a sick hallucination caused by one too many drugs on a Friday night party, and that I would wake up naked besides Judy Poovey in a couple of hours.

It was all broken, however, by the sweet and low voice of mr. Windsworth, the doorman, who cheerfully greeted me and asked if I would be coming up to see Francis, to which I weakly nodded and made my way inside with quick and short steps, my slippers as thin as paper on the linoleum floor. I barely even registered that I should feel embarrassed for having that very kind 70 year-old see me in my pyjamas, but my brain could not focus enough to care, all it could think of was “He is still here.” and “It’s not too late.” And so I made my way up the stairs, jumping two steps at once, and paying no attention to the way my whole body struggled with the excessive amount of exercise in such short notice; all I could think was that he was there, and we were still alive.

Comparing to the small eternity the way to the apartment had felt, going up the stairs to the seventh floor only felt as if it had took me five seconds, and then there I was, stantind in my pyjamas in front of Francis’s closed door. Inside, I could hear the soft noise of a record player, something classical I could not recognize filling the air, and as I knocked on the door with three short raps, I half expected not receiving an answer, of finding out that the music was not real and all the company that I would find inside that flat would be of the ghosts of a boy who had once lived there.

Much to my delight - or dismay, I could not entirely make it out what were the emotions being played out inside of me at the time -, the door clicked and unlocked, and a very rumpled Francis appeared through the fine crack. His eyes were still puffy and almost as red as his hair, and his cheeks and lips, who had always looked so rosy and full of life, were as pale as a ghost’s. He seemed confused that someone would even be there, but when he saw me, his eyes widened a little and he opened the door a little more.

\- Richard.

He whispered my name as one whispers to a scared cat, voice all softened around the edges and open sentences that left me room to escape at any given moment. But, looking at him through that door in that moment, I could think of at least a thousand things I would want to do before stepping away from him once more. That was my first sign, or well, the first sign I counted.

\- Francis, - I paused, my breathing was still heavy and I had just started to feel the cold that had seemed to settle in between my bones some time when I had been rushing there. - Francis I just woke up a few minutes ago and I… I ran here… I ran here to ask you not to leave, or at least… Take me with you.

His mouth was open and he let out a soft oh before stepping aside and widening the crack in the door, allowing me to come in. I was still panting as I sat down and waited politely for him to bring me a glass of water. I eyed him, and saw him blush a bit before coughing.

\- I had a fit last night, broke every single bottle I had home.

I contained a snort and resigned in giving him an amused look before sipping on the cold water, festering on the way it seemed to run through my whole body and reset all functions it came across to.

\- I thought you said you were leaving to Canada immediately.

\- I thought you said no to my invite.

I tried to smile softly at him, but what came out was a demented grin,and so I let it go from my lips as soon as it appeared.

\- Oh, Francis, I was barely conscious, I half wondered if it had all been a dream when I woke up this morning.

We stayed in silence for a few seconds. I drank my water.

\- What was that?

He shook his head and moved to sit on the velvety divan by the window.

\- Francis, I came here to talk. What did you say?

\- I asked… I asked what changed your mind.

He sighed, and I rose to sit by his side. I could hear the moment he held his breath for a second as the cushions sank beneath my body. Everything in the room seemed to smell like Francis, or better, like expensive cigarettes, French perfume, aftershave and coffee, it was one of the few familiar things that didn’t make me want to break down and scream into the void, one last thing to remind me of the real world and the very much real past we had all shared together. I smiled at him, and he seemed to lose a little bit of the tension. I let go of the air I didn’t notice I had been holding.

\- What are we going to do, Francis?

\- I suppose, well, take a break from it all and escape to Canada?

He had a playful tone, but his eyes had a hopeful gleam in them, and I knew he was thinking about what I had said a couple of minutes ago as well.

\- What about college? Classes? - I paused, wincing, talking about that with him, with any of them, still made me feel like less. - I don’t have the option to take a sabbatical, I have been… Have been on financial aid, scholarship… Since I arrived…

\- I can pay it for-

\- Francis you can’t just offer me to do this.

\- I can, and I am.

\- Francis, I-

\- Run away with me Richard. - his voice was pleading now, and he reached to take my hands on his, but seemed to rethink the action and simply let them fall into his lap.

Rain started to pour outside, slow and deliberate, kissing the flowers gently as the sun filtered through the window, casting little shadows of droplets onto Francis’ pale complexion. It was my turn to sigh, and I could see his shoulders dropping in defeat, but now it was my turn to reach out. I put one slightly shaking hand on his shoulder and said, voice low, almost whispering.

\- I can’t, Francis, not now. I have to finish this, and then start my life.

\- But you said… You said… You practically begged me to take you with me!

He was flustered and there were tears prickling in the corners of his eyes, and I felt my throat close. I didn’t want to let him go of my grasp, to let him go that far away for me just so I could lose him like I lost all the others, but now that the immediate despair of having him already gone or going had left me, rationality was slowly taking over and making it clear that I could absolutely not abandon Hampden without a diploma or at least a future that did not involve becoming someone’s trophy wife.

\- I can’t, Francis, it’s too much to ask you, to take from you.

\- Then don’t take it, and let me share it with you, come with me Richard, let’s escape this mess.

\- Francis, Francis, - I took my hand off his shoulders and wiped a tear that was making its way down to his chin - please look at me.

He did, and I had never seen so much vulnerability, or hurt, inside his eyes until that moment.

\- I can’t go, but if you stay here, I will be by your side.

\- I can’t. Richard I can’t take it, I can’t do this anymore, it’s just-

\- Too much? I know, I can feel it too. - I took a deep breath - But that’s why I said I’ll be here. Let me be by your side, Francis, let me help you.

\- Richard…

\- Drop college, I know you only did it because it was fun, drop it and come spend a couple of days in my dorm, I’ll let you keep the bed, and we don’t need to do anything until I figure out my new class selection, we can just drink and rest.

\- Why not stay here, Richard, scared I’ll jump you again?

\- Pff, oh Francis, we’re past that, aren’t we?

He blinked, and his gaze dropped to our intertwined hands.

\- Don’t do this, Richard, I can’t possibly take it, I can’t-

\- I’m here, Francis.

And then there were tears. The first one he ever shed against my shirt, the first time he lowered his head against my chest and tapped his long fingers softly against my arm, following my heartbeats.

\- Min me afíneis.¹

\- Den tha to kano.²

**Author's Note:**

> follow me @angeliloqui on tumblr for more content!


End file.
